


What Do You Do With A Problem Like Tom Riddle?

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hermione is of age, Student/Teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Albus Dumbledore dies by wearing the ring one too many times. At seeing Tom RIddle forming in front of him Albus is helpless, shrivelled and almost dead and once the blood returns to his veins he threatens that Harry Potter will die.In the past couple of days he reads up on the golden trio and Hermione is instantly in his thoughts, upon meeting her he decides she must be under his sway; after all, what is a great man without a great woman to bend to his will?
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort/Hermione Granger
Comments: 4
Kudos: 104
Collections: Fun or Fright





	What Do You Do With A Problem Like Tom Riddle?

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 6th Year AU - Tom Riddle alive, Dumbledore dead.

** Professor Matthias L’or Gourde **

**September 1996**

How did a thirty-year-old Tom Riddle end up in 1996? 

It was the fault of Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was now old, dying by his own hand, by putting on that cursed ring. Once it was on, it was on. It was odd that he was being killed by Tom Riddle eventually, Albus sighed, passing a hand before his face. The ring had never left his finger and now where Tom Riddle stood. Must at least be in his thirties. So may have turned this into one of _them_ when he was an adult. A little error on Albus’ part.

Now he lay dying, collapsing on his bed, as his life force was leeching out of him into Tom, he was at first a diaphanous god of light but the longer it took for Dumbledore to die the more his form steadily began to grow. The moon shining on his twinkling eyes, watching with morbid curiosity as his prey was diminishing before his eyes.

Well, he knelt down and managed to whisper things in Dumbledore’s ears, “So Dumbledore,” he sighed, “what are you thinking of? No,” he shook his head at Dumbledore’s worried eyes also sparkling in the moonlight, “no need to look so frightened my dear old teacher, I am not looking at your thoughts, as much as I loathe you,” he whispered, “your thoughts are yours. I have no need because once you’re dead – that is all I wish for. Watching you die, whilst I, a true heir to Slytherin will become the Professor I want to be and,” then Dumbledore mustered the energy to scowl, “no, Professor, I shall not harm your students, not unless they really deserve it, of course.”

“Po…tt…er!” Dumbledore managed to squeak out, his last words, “Harry Potter will…de…story you!”

Such ignoble words for Dumbledore to utter as blood had returned to Tom Riddle, Dumbledore's need to see his sister had been too great. “At least you can join her in death!” Tom said without a hint of emotion.

Quietly, the young wizard slipped from the room, now able to after the release of Albus' death. The ring grew black and crumbled into dust, it was no longer necessary. He would have to first catch up on his student’s names, and for that, he needed the yearbooks. Aligned neatly in closely-knit rows he started with 1991-1992 and stole up to 1995-1996. Shrinking the pile of books he glanced around the portraits. 

The portraits were all asleep, snoozing contentedly in their extravagant frames. Yet only one had his eye open, Phineas Nigellus Black watched as Dumbledore had slipped into his portrait, “Forgot about this fact,” Albus told Phineas, “I can still expose him!”

Phineas sneered, “What good’d that do?” his oily voice said. “Not one court in the world takes a Portraits account of its own death into detail.”

Somehow, Dumbledore seethed into his frame, he would find a way.

**October 1996**

Tom was skipping up and down the street, not one person would see who he actually was, just what he looked like. Muggle London had changed due to the bomb raids, some places, and buildings exceedingly so.

On a whim, he decided he would take a trip into Hogsmeade on the Saturday before Halloween. There he saw them, the Golden Trio. He rolled his eyes, what an overbearing pretentious name for a bunch of teenagers. Actually, he sighed, the nomme de plume he did love was, he smirked, the Dunderheaded Duo. What he read about the third one, however, missed the mark.

Those pictures of her at the ball when some part of himself had come back was astoundingly revelatory. Not only was their potential there, of a bite of pureblood – perhaps, but he also thought hopefully, she was from a squib line. Judging by her stance and hair it could possibly be the Blacks. He would have to look into it, genealogy was a strong suit of his.

He decided to follow them through to the Leaky Cauldron. Rosmerta, the new barmaid, was quite an interesting distraction but nothing like the young witch that had occupied his thoughts the past few weeks, everything she had done proved she had ambition, worth, and a vindictive stream in her veins a mile wide.

The three were hustling their way through the bustling crowd and ended up at the bar: “Three butterbeer, please,” the redhead said, “Nah, two Butterbeers – Hermione’ll have a…”

“A butterbeer, just because I am seventeen I cannot bring myself to drink yet.”

Oh dear, he sighed, one of those. Ah well, he would teach her the joys of a good drink.

Perhaps this is an opportunity to fit right in. With a Confundus charm sent Ron’s way, he slipped, and the drink Hermione was holding was tipped over and everything she was wearing, the outcome to that she was soaked to the skin. “RON!”

“MERLIN, HERMIONE, I’M SO SORRY!”

He took his chance and glided between the few people separating them with an efficient move that would have impressed any nearby snake with the way his body was moving. Sinuously, and purposefully, accentuating his attractive qualities. A charming smile and he could see she was a mess of hormones, for she prettily blushed as he stopped to assess the situation as he stood in front of her.

She was a sopping wet mess. It was also good that she was of age if she was that much of an up and coming asset to the Order, she should be his. With a few suave cleaning charms put into place, he walked across the few steps it took to get closer to her, and their shoes met toe to toe, tip to tip. She did the coy head tilt, lowered aroused eyes peeked through extremely long lashes, and even her ‘thank you,’ was slightly husky. In one moment he had made the final decision. Squib born or not, she was gorgeous, and she would be his.

“I do hope the lady is not harmed too much?” he smirked; mischief was ever-present in his eyes. Blushing to the roots of her hair, she stared at her empty tankard. “Please, allow me to buy you a new drink.”

“What is your name?” she asked rather breathily.

Ah yes, name, that was something he had to change: “My name is Professor Matthias Dolman Vu L'or Gourde,” he introduced himself to the boys. The glass wearer narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

The girl, however, just blushed shyly. “Professor L’or Gourde,” she breathed, “of what?” was that a hint of disappointment in her voice?

“Unfortunately, I hear your new potions professor has scarpered, I am good at Potions but there is a Severus Snape involved now,” at this the boys grinned. The moment Snape was back in the class, out those two went. I am going to be your Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor.”

“The position is cursed,” Harry said stubbornly crossing his arms, scowling.

Ah, this must be the Potter brat he’d read so much about, “Only because incompetents and oafs have been accepted. I believe you will find I shall be here for many years to come.”

One of his preparations was to forge documents for the name, date of birth, some teaching experience if one counted teaching the Knights of Walpurgis, Death tactics and ancient forgotten curses as expertise in moulding the minds of the young. Not that he would to these children. No, he had to see their abilities first. “I am quite sure the position is not cursed, Harry,” the Witch said, “it is a dangerous job and not all of them have been absolutely terrible.”

He wondered if they had a really good one that they wished had stayed longer.

“Professor Lupin was brilliant,” Harry finally let his arms slip a little, but still keeping his personal barriers to a minimum. Shame he did not have the same talent with his mind.

The redhead was not interesting, his mind was full of the worst Quidditch Pitch, pretty women, and girls, like Rosmerta and a blonde in his year he would soon learn the name of and encourage her to move in this incompetents direction…ah yes, there it was _envy_! He could work on that.

On the other hand, the girl had at least the sense to _seem_ warm and open, but her face was the open book, she allowed her feelings to show, that would need to be taught out of her. It would do no good if someone with even the slightest talent in Occlumency saw what they were going to do once he had her alone. Without even an attempt at resisting him, he slipped into her mind, fluidly, and gently from him. Unsurprisingly, her mind was organised into the appearance of a library, so she clearly adored books. But that was as far as it went. Some books had chains across them… so someone had been teaching herself some basic Occlumency that was interesting.

“I may be forming a little club – a study club if you will – and I will want you and your friends to come,” he said to the girl. “Bring who you feel is right, or in need of, extra study.”

“I do not know about that,” Hermione blushed, “people are not so keen on Study Clubs, I should know….”

If he had not had a carefully laid out plan in mind he’d have whisked her out of there and back to his ancestral home where no one was to touch her but him, however, she would have to be an enticing codicil in the plan.

**Halloween 1996**

“We are pleased to welcome, as our new DADA teacher Professor Matthias L’or Gourde,” Headmistress McGonagall stood up raising her goblet to her lips. The school politely applauded but he noticed a hooked nosed man giving him a death glare. If he proved to be a problem he may have to be taken out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione clapping the loudest, it was nice to know he’d already gained one fan but the red-headed oaf sitting next to her, and another settled against her boyfriend he supposed, clapped. What she felt was worthy. She too held narrowed eyes aiming a thin-lipped grimace his way. Never mind, he sighed, as he tilted his cup particularly in Hermione’s direction.

Oh yes, he smirked as he supped, this was going to be fun. Good job he knew exactly how to kill his own other self, but that method was already under control.

**Author's Note:**

> I edited it as there were some mistakes and some things were rather vague. So I hope that this is clearer and it helps to relook things over from time to time so that when I continue I have a firmer base to work on.


End file.
